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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29429988">The Secret Admirer</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johnlock2708/pseuds/Johnlock2708'>Johnlock2708</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes &amp; Related Fandoms</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Clueless John, Confused Sherlock Holmes, Feelings, Friends to Lovers, Greg Lestrade is a Good Friend, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, M/M, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 13:48:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,248</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29429988</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johnlock2708/pseuds/Johnlock2708</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Soon it's Valentine's Day and everyone is looking forward to spending time with loved ones. Will Sherlock find out in time what love is and what that feeling means for him? And if so, how will he show John his feelings?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes/John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Be my Valentine - Johnlock Collection</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hello everyone, I know I'm late for the party and not quite finished yet, but I would like to post the first part of my fic in time for Valentine's Day. Of course, I will post the next chapters as soon as possible and I'll add more tags with the next chapters.</p><p> </p><p>Once again a big thank you to SherlockWatson_Holmes for beta reading and editing. I could never post my work without you. &lt;3</p><p>And another thank you goes to Strange_johnlock for your continued support and encouragement. Without you, I probably wouldn't have gotten past the first paragraph.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>"Oh, Sherlock, it’s so romantic!" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Sherlock?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Yes, Molly?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Did you hear what I said? He's so romantic, this will be the best Valentine's Day ever! I have the most amazing boyfriend I could ever ask for. He'll probably take me out to dinner or go to watch a film with me - or maybe even both!" Molly babbled smiling, swinging in circles, like the girls in one of those old-fashioned romantic black and white films, with her lab coat fluttered around her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Valentine's Day is a construct of capitalist pop culture, a sign of an oppressive society shaped by heteronormative and patriarchal ideas," Sherlock replied with a deep sigh and a grimace that indicated how little this day meant to him, while he continued poking around a bag full of severed toes to see if they were suitable for his next experiment. "How much longer until that dreadful day? How much longer do I have to listen to speculation about a day made up by idiots?" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Molly stopped moving and straightened her lab coat, her smile had given way to a rather critical frown. "But… that's not right, it's February 14th, the day you show people you love what they mean to you by doing something romantic. Going out, gifts, poems... or a love letter," Molly replied and looked dreamily again towards the door of the laboratory, as if her prince in shimmering armour would appear at any time to pick her up. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With an annoyed snort, Sherlock carefully sealed the bag "They will do," and was out of the door in an instant, his coat swirling after him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p><span>Even though he hadn't really listened to Molly,</span> <span>on his way back to Baker Street one sentence crept back into his thoughts again: </span><em><span>It's the day you show people you love what they mean to you.</span></em></p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The next few days passed in a flash and Sherlock pushed the conversation with Molly into a distant corner of his mind. There was a new case (unfortunately hardly a six) and the experiment with the toes (very successful, until John complained that the whole flat smelled of decaying meat and chemicals: "It's definitely a bit not good, Sherlock!"). </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On the next day, after they had ventilated the flat extensively, John sat in his chair reading the newspaper and drinking tea while Sherlock was pouting on the couch (John had taken the toes away from him). </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a sigh, Sherlock turned to his side looking into the middle of the living room. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Show people you love what they mean to you… </span>
  </em>
  <span>The sentence echoed in his head. He didn't even know why the thought was there again. Usually, ideas easily fitted into the categories and patterns of the mind palace. This one stubbornly refused to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hmmph." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Frustrated he flopped onto the stomach and pressed his face into a pillow. It didn't help, the thought was still there. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After a few seconds, this position was also uncomfortable and in no way helped to solve the problem, so Sherlock dropped onto his back again with a dramatic groan.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What’s the matter? You look like you've sucked on a lemon,” John asked with a wry smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“There’s… something.” Sherlock waved his right hand vaguely in the air, “Something I can't... explain.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With these words, Sherlock swung himself off the couch, stomped over the coffee table to the desk, and began to pick things up at random and drop them elsewhere. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing, Sherlock?” John asked while he eyed him suspiciously over the edge of his newspaper and watched Sherlock on his way through the living room.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s annoying, John! It's a thought that won't go away no matter what I do!” Sherlock spat and ran his hands frustrated through his hair until it stuck out in all directions. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Do you want to tell me about it?” John asked, folding his newspaper neatly in half and sitting up straighter, facing Sherlock. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“No!” Sherlock looked a bit startled, but then scowled, as if that alone could chase the thought away. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Well, then I can't help you. But before you start turning the whole flat upside down, you'd better come up with something. Instead of using that big brain of yours that is already working overtime, you should maybe just listen to your gut feeling,” John explained and pointed with his index finger to the different places where Sherlock had dropped something. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“My what?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Your gut feeling, or call it instinct,” John replied with the satisfied expression on his face of someone who knew what he was talking about, “When your head doesn't know what to do next, you sometimes just have to decide based on your feelings.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hmph.” With a heavy sigh, Sherlock fell back on the sofa and pressed his face into the cushions on the backrest.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the calm that had returned, John went back to his newspaper.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~~~~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Later that evening, when John had already retired to his bedroom, Sherlock was still on the couch and the thought was still running through his mind. “Gut feeling...Instinct…” he muttered and let the words roll over his tongue. Maybe he should just try John's method, it was better than spending more time thinking about it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Show people you love what they mean to you… </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But what exactly did that mean - and who did he have feelings for? Sherlock put his hands under his chin and closed his eyes to think. If his gut instinct also had something to contribute, so much the better. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The first to come to mind were his parents. Easy - biologically predisposed connection.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mycroft: pain in the arse but useful.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Molly: useful to get material for experiments but too emotional and nervous, still regarded as a friend.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lestrade: very useful in sourcing new cases, regarded as a friend, maybe even a good friend.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mrs Hudson: landlady, emotionally connected, second mother figure, grateful for her support, brings tea and biscuits, must be protected. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>John: flatmate, friend, lifesaver, personal conductor of light… John, who made him laugh, who, despite all the inconvenience of living with Sherlock Holmes, still lived with him and even made sure he ate enough regularly. John, who… </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>An odd, warm feeling starting with a tingling sensation in his stomach - unusual but not uncomfortable - spread towards the chest area. This sensation affected Sherlock’s heartbeat (increased quickly) and the ability to breathe properly. With a gasp, he opened his eyes and involuntarily grabbed his chest. What was it and what did it mean? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Unlike adrenaline, which spreads rapidly, this warmth had crept slowly through his body and flooded his stomach, lungs, and heart one after the other. Was that the gut feeling John was talking about? It had to be that. John hadn’t said exactly how this gut feeling should feel, but that special feeling had come when Sherlock had thought about what John actually meant to him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>John had become a constant presence in his life that Sherlock couldn’t imagine being without - and now that he thought about it more carefully, he didn’t want to. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The thought of losing John promptly made his stomach ache, which led to the conclusion that losing John was not an option when the very thought of it caused almost physical pain. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Much more pleasant was that tingling feeling when he thought about how he could spend his time with John. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>First of all the cases, of course, the exciting hunts for criminals across the streets of London, John always by his side. But the feeling was just as pleasant when he thought of simply sitting with John in the shared flat, busy with their daily routine of drinking tea, reading the newspapers, blog entries, and occasionally (John would say frequently) experiments, in pleasant silence.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Admittedly, there were also less calm moments during these quiet times when John was once again - and completely unjustly - upset about something Sherlock had said or done. But even those moments Sherlock didn't want to trade for anything else since they meant that John cared for him.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Another tingling sensation ran through him, this time it started on the scalp and rolled like a shiver down to his toes. Where did that come from? What was he thinking about? Ah yes, he had been thinking of discussing his latest experiment with John.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>John was furious when he came back from the clinic after a stressful day and everything smelled horrible. (What could Sherlock do when an incalculable </span>
  <em>
    <span>odour</span>
  </em>
  <span> developed while he tested the reaction of human flesh to various chemicals and the occasional use of a bunsen burner?!) John was so angry that he even ignored his otherwise important personal space and stood right in front of Sherlock. Raising his finger threateningly and leaning slightly forward, he urged Sherlock to immediately remove "this disgusting mess" from the flat. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sherlock's first reaction had been to gasp for air like an outraged fish, then to close his mouth abruptly as he looked past the finger into John’s deep blue eyes.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He'd noticed those blue eyes on other occasions, but this time they looked a tad darker... somehow deeper. The sight had apparently short-circuited his verbal motor skills, at least he hadn't managed to formulate an adequate answer and when no answer was forthcoming, John had simply stormed around him and had put all the toes back into the transport bag and brought it outside.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now that Sherlock thought more about it, other occasions came to his mind where he had admired John's physical virtues. In action when John threw an attacker to the ground, but also when he leaned over one of the victims at a crime scene and the jeans hugged his bum…</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Sherlock? Hey, Sherlock!" </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The words were accompanied by a gentle but determined shake on his shoulder and pulled Sherlock out of his thoughts. Startled, he snapped open his eyes - which he hadn't even noticed he'd closed while he was thinking - and focused on John, who was standing next to the couch, leaning over him worriedly.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Is everything okay with you?” he asked with a frown. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm ... I ... I'm fine," Sherlock replied, unsuccessfully trying to prevent himself from blushing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Are you sure? You look a bit flushed and you fidgeted the whole time doing your mind-palace thing." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I'm not fidgeting!" Sherlock replied, sticking out his lower lip, pouting. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Usually not, but you did this time. So I want to make sure everything is okay before I go to work." The worried frown was still there, but the rest of John's face had relaxed again. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Work…”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, work. Ordinary people sleep at night and go to work in the morning. You spent the whole night on the couch again,” John smiled wryly and put a hand to Sherlock's forehead, “You don't have a fever, even if you still look a bit confused.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With one last appraising look, John said goodbye and made his way to the clinic.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>As soon as Sherlock heard the front door slam shut, he jumped up and grabbed John's laptop. Time for research. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>About two hours later, Sherlock had scoured seven different websites and two different forums about gut feelings and instincts and concluded that there was no one-size-fits-all explanation because it felt different for everyone. About gut feelings, in particular, he had found out that there existed different variants. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On one hand, the spontaneous gut feeling, which one could depend on for heat of the moment decisions; and on the other hand, the gut feeling that was related to a certain person. He could rule out the former, as his gut feeling had arisen when he thought of John. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>But of all things, this particular gut feeling was often mentioned in the forums together with the words </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>being in love</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Admittedly, after all his deliberations last night, Sherlock could no longer deny to himself that he was attracted to John in more than a collegial or friendly manner. And the longer he thought about it, the more situations came into his mind in which he had already felt a (similar?) shivering sensation, but had dismissed it as an annoying need of his transport. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The subject warranted further investigation. But how? No other useful information had come out of the Internet. The only source left was to ask people he knew and trusted. Most of all he trusted John, but asking him was out of the question. Nor could he ask Mrs Hudson, since she would immediately assume that his interest was in John. The only ones he could ask were Lestrade and Molly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~~~~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a </span>
  <em>
    <span>whoosh,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Sherlock rushed through the door of the laboratory and startled Molly so much that she dropped the file she was holding. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I need your assistance,” Sherlock demanded without paying attention to how Molly bent down to pick up the scattered papers.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Molly gathered up the papers and quickly straightened up again, “What for?” she frowned and smiled nervously, "John forbade me to give you any more toes."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Ignoring what she said, Sherlock fixed her with an appraising look. Now that he was here, the idea didn't seem so good anymore. What if Molly laughed at him, or worse, noticed immediately who it was about? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Why hadn't he thought of it before?</span>
  </em>
  
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Are you alright? You suddenly look a little pale,” Molly asked, “Paler than usual,” she continued and became even more nervous.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I -” Sherlock began and cleared his throat, “How does it feel to be in love?” he blurted out and winced inwardly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Molly stared at him, her mouth slightly open.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s…” she began. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s for a case - obviously!” Sherlock interrupted loudly - too loudly. He was barely able to keep himself from flinching, this time not just inwardly. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Of course,” Molly smiled, “How could it be any different.” She rested her lower back against the laboratory table, tapped her lips with a finger, and thought for a moment. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well, of course, it`s different for everyone, but in general you could say that being in love is one of the best feelings ever. You feel light and exhilarated, you are happy and could hug the whole world - at least </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> could. It makes such a wonderful, warm fluttering sensation in your stomach, that occurs whenever you think about the person you're in love with. It's wonderful.” Molly raved and smiled dreamily, “You just know that it's the right person and you want to do anything for him, be close to him, hug him, kiss him, have great adventures with him.” Sherlock deduced that she was thinking about her current boyfriend.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sherlock let his breath slowly escape, which he hadn't even realized he was holding, and relaxed a bit. Molly didn't judge him and what she said actually corresponded to what he had experienced earlier that day. Still, he had to be sure and asked, "What is the difference to a normal gut feeling?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"You mean when it comes to an important decision and you don't know what to do? Well, the feeling is not easy to explain, it is... just there. The head can make so many arguments, the gut simply knows what is right."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hm.” Sherlock made a noncommittal noise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that Molly had got going he couldn’t stop her from continuing, "Yeah, I know, that all sounds complicated, but when you're in love you never want to stop doing something with him.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"And that would be?" Sherlock asked sceptically. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Oh, there are different options! First of all, there are of course the classics, such as a candlelight dinner or a visit to the cinema, romantic walks along the Thames are also wonderful. Attending a concert is an option.” Molly counted on her fingers, “But of course the invitation is just as important as the date itself. You can't just go to someone and ask for a date, the invitation has to be something special. A handwritten invitation should be usually presented." </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"What a waste of time, I prefer to text," Sherlock interrupted Molly's flow of speech. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a gasp, Molly paused and looked at Sherlock with wide eyes. "Well that would be so… you -" Before Molly could say more, an assistant poked his head in the door and cut off the conversation, “Molly, I need your help, will you come with me?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes, I'll be right there,” Molly replied and made her way to the door. She was almost through when she turned back to Sherlock and winked at him, "Good luck with your </span>
  <em>
    <span>case</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sherlock paused for a moment and looked flabbergasted at the door that had closed behind Molly. An unhelpful voice in the back of his mind indicated that that's how everyone else felt when he left spontaneously. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a jerk, he shook off this thought, turned up his collar and buried his gloved hands in the pockets of his coat. Although he could always hail a cab, he walked to think about all the new pieces of information. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~~~~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At home, Sherlock had still not come to a satisfactory result and sat down on the couch to sort through his thoughts further. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>No sooner had he made himself reasonably comfortable than he was interrupted: John was back from work. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hey Sherlock," he greeted while taking off his jacket and shoes, "Are you better than this morning? What have you been doing all day, just lying on the couch?”  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yes.” There was no need to tell John about his trip to Molly, let alone his thoughts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>John shrugged off the short answer and went into the kitchen to prepare tea. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>While John made tea, Sherlock tried to organize his thoughts. Unfortunately, he was repeatedly distracted by the noises that came to him from the kitchen. Finally, he gave up and secretly watched John out of the corner of his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After John had served both of them tea, he first sat down in his chair to read the newspaper. When he had finished this, he put it aside with a satisfied sigh and looked around searchingly. After a few seconds, he got up and walked over to the shelf and began to search it while he mumbled: "Where is it ...?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finding nothing on the lower shelves, John stretched on tiptoe and began searching the upper shelves. Sherlock didn't take his eyes off him and let his gaze wander from the back of John's head, down his back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Oh. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There it was again, this feeling.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sherlock felt it flood through his body and prickle in his veins. A shiver went through him and he was just barely able to keep from gasping for air. It was followed by one of those rare moments when time slowed down and everything around you seemed to move in slow motion. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sherlock saw John hold on to the shelf as he tried to reach a book on the top shelf, but the movements were slow and like cotton wool. At the same time, however, many short flashes of thought raced through his head. John sitting in his armchair reading the newspaper, John looking crap telly, John making tea or washing up, John at his side when they solved a case together, John when he called him brilliant …</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>BANG.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>With a loud noise, the book landed on the floor and time began to run at normal speed again. While John leaned down to pick up the book - "The Hobbit" - Sherlock sat on the couch, panting quietly, trying to understand what had just happened.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Sorry Sherlock, I didn't mean to scare you like that," John grumbled as he returned to his chair. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s … I’m fine -" Sherlock stammered. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Now he was sure: he was in love with John H. Watson, former military surgeon and captain of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers, flatmate and (his?) blogger. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The thought made Sherlock tense inside, feeling like he was going to throw up. He had finally found out what this gut feeling meant, but this realization didn't help him at all. John wasn't gay, he'd emphasized this on many different occasions. Sherlock was never allowed to show him what he was feeling. He couldn't ruin the unique friendship that bound them by bringing feelings into play that John would never reciprocate. John would be forced to move out because he couldn't stand being around Sherlock any longer. Sherlock couldn't and didn't want to risk that. In order not to be exposed to further scrutiny from John, Sherlock abruptly withdrew to his bedroom. Once there, he curled up on his bed. Love was just a dream, an idea and nothing more, inside he felt sad and empty.</span>
</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Hey Sherlock, good to see you,” greeted Greg Lestrade as Sherlock ducked under the police tape "Where's John?" Both were standing in front of a kiosk in one of the less pleasant areas of London, the entrance now splattered with blood.</p><p> </p><p>“Busy.” came the short answer. </p><p> </p><p>Greg gave Sherlock the details of the case and then retired for a moment to take care of a few organizational matters.</p><p> </p><p>Ten minutes later, when he was about to return to the main scene of the murder, one of his officers came running towards him, holding a handkerchief to his mouth. He was about to ask what had happened when the officer ran right past him and disappeared around the corner. Greg looked after him, somewhat confused, but turned back towards the entrance when he heard voices of annoyance.</p><p> </p><p>“Boring! Why did you call me about such a bad case? Even a toddler would have solved that. It's a two at most.” Sherlock snapped and grimaced at another officer who was trying to placate him.</p><p> </p><p>“Sir, maybe I could -"</p><p> </p><p>“No, you can't!" Sherlock snarled and turned completely to the officer. He took a deep breath, preparing to let go of a series of deductions to make sure he wouldn't be disturbed again, when Greg interrupted him with a loud exclamation.</p><p> </p><p>“Sherlock!” Greg grabbed his arm to keep him from annoying another of his coworkers so much that he ran away - or maybe even quit.</p><p> </p><p>"What's the matter with you? You act like a spoiled brat whose toys have been taken away, you are unbearable." Greg scolded and pulled Sherlock out of sight around the corner. </p><p> </p><p>"Nothing. Nothing at all," replied Sherlock irritably and pulled his arm out of Greg's grasp. Why did everyone around him have to behave more like idiots than usual today? </p><p> </p><p>"That doesn't sound like nothing at all, Sherlock!" the inspector ranted back, frowning and putting his hands on his hips, “What rattled your cage?” </p><p> </p><p>“Nothing.” Sherlock insisted with a clenched mouth. </p><p> </p><p>"Spit it out, Sherlock, or I won't give you any new cases and will send you home right away. We'll be fine without you."</p><p> </p><p>“You will not.” Sherlock pouted and crossed his arms over his chest.</p><p> </p><p>Had it not been so annoying Greg would have laughed, as it almost looked like Sherlock was stamping his foot like a little kid.</p><p> </p><p>“Sherlock,” Greg growled warningly. </p><p> </p><p>“Hmph.” Sherlock's lips tightened, but Greg could see his resolve wavering.</p><p> </p><p>“...”</p><p> </p><p>Greg sighed deeply and tried to relax. It wasn't the first time Sherlock had been in a bad mood.  “Listen, Sherlock, you know I’m your friend and I don't mean to harm you. If you tell me what's going on, maybe I can help you.” </p><p> </p><p>Sherlock stared for a while and Greg didn't think he would get an answer when Sherlock's shoulders slumped slightly and his stance changed from stubborn to uncertain. </p><p> </p><p>“I can’t,” he muttered. </p><p> </p><p>Greg pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers and then wiped his face with a sigh. He looked tired.</p><p> </p><p>"Okay, you can't tell me, or you don't want to. To be honest, I don't care. But it can't go on like this, you're scaring off my whole unit. Even if you don't want to talk about it, I'll give you one of the best pieces of advice I've ever been given. If you - "</p><p> </p><p>"That can't be anything special." Sherlock interrupted him trying to rebuild his usual protective cover out of arrogance and aloofness.</p><p> </p><p>"- have a problem," continued Greg steadfastly, "whatever it is, there is always something you can do about it. So sit down and develop a plan to solve your problem." Greg reached out his hand and tapped it, he hoped, reassuringly on Sherlock's upper arm. “You're a genius, Sherlock, I know you can do it,” Greg said calmly. With that, Greg managed a smile and went back to the crime scene. </p><p> </p><p>~~~~</p><p> </p><p>Sherlock returned to Baker Street. What should he do? He needed to get more cases from Lestrade. Private clients kept coming, but these cases weren't enough to get his boredom under control. Besides, John wouldn't like it if he fell out with Lestrade. <em> A bit not good </em>, John's voice echoed through his head. Neither could he just go to John and tell him how he felt. He was in a bind and needed a solution - quickly.</p><p> </p><p>What kind of confused emotional chaos had he gotten into? Otherwise, everything was always crystal clear in front of him, only logic, no feelings were involved. Most of the time he just had to send a message and everything would clear itself up.</p><p> </p><p>Oh. </p><p> </p><p>A message. That was the solution. He could text John anytime, anywhere. He was just not allowed to do this from his usual phone, he needed a new one whose number nobody knew - and of course, he had to do it without his usual signature at the end of the messages. Simple, brilliant.</p><p> </p><p>Now he just had to put his idea into practice.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sherlock has a brilliant idea. What can possibly go wrong? Stay tuned, it will continue soon.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading this far. I'm very happy about kudos and comments, they are my fuel to continue writing.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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